The biggest show on television – I’d argue the biggest thing in pop culture – is the most excellent HBO show Game of Thrones. This has been true for about five years now, and whether or not you watch the show you have most definitely come across a mention of it or, at the very least, some of its many masterful characters. A fantasy nut myself (“Hello, my name is Fayes and I’m the lion, the witch and the wardrobe”), I’ve been eagerly waiting for the new season like everyone else in their right mind. My only gripe with the return of the show was irritation at people’s insipid comparisons to local politics. This family is the Starks; that dynasty is the Lannisters; this little Shitzu is a dragon. If I’m being honest, I do the same thing with every show or movie I watch, but for the sake of clarity let me make one thing perfectly clear: you are not now, nor will you – nor anyone else – ever be Khaleesi, Mother of the Dragons. I’m sorry but it’s true.
Now that we have that cleared up, let me say that I understand the impulse to understand Pakistan through the lens of something like a medieval political fantasy drama. It makes sense in a place where poverty is rampant, maybe an entire aesthetic unto itself, and things like classism, clan loyalty, marriages of convenience, filial dynasties, political intrigues and issues of heirs-apparent are as much a contemporary reality as the smartphone. I know friends from Nigeria, India, Bangladesh, the Phillipines, Mexico and many other places who live with similar dichotomies. The reason I know this is because I went to a Game of Thrones viewing party recently with a group of them, and let me tell you, you haven’t seen that show unless you’ve seen it sitting next to a 6 ft 2 man dressed as a pastel-blue Khaleesi with a pet lizard on his lap in a room full of costume-clad super fanatics drinking “ale”. My only regret is that Life isn’t like that every day.
This family is the Starks; that dynasty is the Lannisters; this little Shitzu is a dragon
The viewing was in a meeting hall in an old church in Brooklyn, probably reserved for meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous or Weight Watchers (though probably not both, because doughnuts). Walking past the stone façade and under the buttresses you had to admit that the ambiance of the place was on point. A friend of mine had reserved places to it a while ago and knowing that I am usually free enough to go to the opening of an envelope, I got a call when someone else backed out last minute. Sadly, I didn’t know that you were encouraged to dress up, and I didn’t have time to come up with a costume (for the curious: I would have gone in a black sherwani and shawl dressed as Littlefinger at a funeral, a plan that I have now postponed to Halloween).
They had set up a screen at the end of the hall and, during commercial breaks, people dressed as bar maidens passed around some free snacks. Once the show was done there was a Q&A with some of the people who had arranged it. I hadn’t realised that the viewing party had been designed to be any more than just a group of people watching a TV show (and dressing up) but the conversation was thoughtful and, at times, moving.
The thing with fiction – and especially sci-fi or fantasy fiction that creates immersive worlds in which you can dive deep – is that they often become parables of real-life, real-time events. During the discussion one woman got up and said that she was from Damascus and her husband was from Lebanon. She gave a short history of herself and then compared the White Walkers in a show – a veritable army of evil, walking winter zombies with imperialist ambitions – to the rise of ISIS in Syria.
Other people made similar comparisons to their own countries or even their personal lives – in the case of one woman who was in an abusive marriage and hit her husband in the genitals so hard that he ended up in physical therapy for six months (eunuchs play a not insignificant part in the show). True story.
Food served at a Game of Thrones viewing party
The wonderful thing about believable and relatable immersive worlds is that Good and Evil are not easily defined sides but rather constantly fluctuating filters. The worlds of Harry Potter, Narnia, Midde Earth et al work so enduringly well precisely because so many of the evil characters are not working for the evil side. They are regular people, which makes it both real and terrifying. Similarly, with Game of Thrones there isn’t a single faction of the many in play that has not committed some kind of atrocity at some point, or tugged at our heartstrings on some occasion, even with blood on their hands. So for countries mired in endless rounds of conflict (nowadays which country isn’t?), perhaps these fictions create a palatable way of seeing their own problems as, in a way, universal. Listening to the stories of people that night – from different countries, different races, different lives – made me reconsider my annoyance with people who use the show as a reflection of their own worlds. The truth is it’s no different than imagining yourself as a hero in the book you’re reading; not any different from the many people around the world who related to the dynamics of courtship penned by Jane Austen or even the Dinsey Princesses (Cinderella: the world’s first It Girl). Stories are always a way for us to relate to each other.
So go ahead and pick your grandiose house from Game of Thrones. But remember, you’re never gonna be Khaleesi.
